Friendship For A Price

June 13, 2004

Gov. John G. Rowland took too literally the familiar line, ``A friend in need is a friend indeed.'' By his actions over many years, he showed that he was indeed in need and his friends obliged him to a fault.

This tawdry practice of lining each other's pockets became clearer than ever after the first week of hearings by the House impeachment committee.

Steven F. Reich, counsel for the committee, pointedly observed that financial records in six of the nine years his staff reviewed show that Mr. Rowland and his wife, Patricia, spent more money than they received. Friends helped Connecticut's first couple overcome cash flow problems.

The U.S. attorney's office and the Internal Revenue Service no doubt will determine if the Rowlands fully declared their multi-source income, including the many valuable presents they received.

Mr. Rowland's lawyers saw little wrong in comrades helping each other. After all, what are old friends for if they're not around when you need a hand?

Defenders of the governor's misconduct dismiss his taking of boxes of expensive cigars, cases of Dom Perignon champagne, a hot tub, fancy haberdashery and the like as much ado about little. They claim it's nothing more than giving a buddy a few of the finer things in life, no doubt to make the governor's tough life in the executive mansion more tolerable.

The governor's lawyers repeatedly suggested to committee members that the first couple accepted free lodging at fancy resorts from longtime friends, not strangers. The same excuse had been advanced regarding the expensive improvements at the Rowlands' Bantam Lake cottage.

The benefactors were merely friends with nothing but the best intentions in mind, no doubt! We presume that includes the good-hearted felon and electrical contractor who sent the cigars and received effusive thank-you notes from the guv.

There were more than a few things wrong with the endless rounds of phony philanthropy. Most of those who gave, gave and gave to Mr. Rowland also benefited from knowing their high-placed friend. Some won millions of dollars of business and loans from the state. Others were on the state payroll, working for Mr. Rowland.

The governor's dwindling defenders should bear in mind that true friendship in public life is a bond based on never borrowing/taking and never lending/giving each other anything of value. That's doubly true when the friend occupies the top elected office in the state and is supposed to set an exemplary standard for high-minded leadership.

Most of the gift exchanges confirmed last week were first reported by The Courant and, true to form, vehemently denied by Mr. Rowland until his lies caught up with him.

Two items are new to the gallery of shame, however. They are symptomatic of the devolution of ethics in the Rowland administration.

The first couple apparently couldn't manage their checkbook. Mr. Rowland's executive secretary, Kathleen C. Mengacci, noticed a shortfall in the governor's bank account and simply replenished it with money from her own account. She did it, she claimed, so that the governor could pay his bills. That the governor, who is supposed to manage the state's $14 billion budget, could not balance his checkbook is mind boggling. Mr. Rowland reimbursed Mrs. Mengacci, but only when the U.S. attorney's office began subpoenaing his records.

One important detail is that after the extraordinary checkbook fixing, the governor nominated Mrs. Mengacci's husband, Joseph, for a judgeship. Why not? The Mengaccis and Rowlands were friends, and what are friends for?

Living in the gubernatorial mansion, Mrs. Rowland found time to write a children's book about a mouse that lives unhappily and then (after making friends) happily on the premises.

But how to publish this tale if no publisher is willing to risk the investment? Enter the inimitable Jo McKenzie, a dear Friend of John and the major domo at the mansion. In a letter, she asked ``a huge favor'' from the executive residence conservancy group to lend the first lady money to publish the book. Conservancy Chairman Wilson Wilde wisely declined. The nonprofit group's charter precludes it from handing out money for such reasons. But Mr. Wilde offered to advance Mrs. Rowland his own money. She accepted to the tune of $41,000.

Some might argue that Mr. Wilde invested his money in a business deal. Don't take that thought to the bank, however.

Why the governor is willing to see his dirty linen aired instead of resigning and sparing himself and his family further humiliation is a mystery. Suffice it to say that the ``friendship'' argument doesn't wash, and never did.

The governor's conduct indicates that he simply didn't respect the boundary between where his obligation to constituents begins and his personal friendships end.